


He's a Tramp

by OneWhoSitsWithTurtles



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Disney Song - He's a Tramp, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles/pseuds/OneWhoSitsWithTurtles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur isn’t sure he wants to risk his heart on a tramp like Eames.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's a Tramp

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or the characters. Nor do I own the lyrics to “He’s a Tramp” from Disney’s “The Lady and the Tramp” sung by Peggy Lee.

**He’s a Tramp**

 

The bar lounge was what you would call high end. The prices weren’t listed because if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it. The booths were plush and comfortable, the dark wooden tables unmarred and unstained. The lighting overhead was dim and relaxing, bathing the general lounge area in a comfortable haze while making the bar and stage stand out with a few well-placed spotlights. The other patrons in the bar lounge were chatting amiably amongst themselves, no one drunk or obnoxious.

 

Arthur was sitting with his back against the curved cushion of his seat. The team was out celebrating another successful job and they had found a semi-circular booth facing the stage that fit the four of them. Eames was on Arthur’s right, boasting loudly to Ariadne on Arthur’s left about some nostalgic exploits in Peru. Dom was on Ariadne’s left, spinning his glass around on the tabletop in boredom. He didn’t look nearly as affronted by Eames’s lewd conversation topics as Arthur himself felt, but Arthur had grown accustomed to being the only one to take proper insult to Eames’s poor vocal filter; how the Forger thought some of those topics were appropriate, Arthur would never know.

 

“And then, just as I get my hand down her skirt I feel something on her thigh and I realize it’s a gun! So I--”

 

Arthur closed his eyes and prayed for patience. When that proved ineffective he promptly swallowed the rest of his whiskey, appreciating the distracting burn of the alcohol traveling down his throat. He wondered idly how much longer he would have to sit here and listen to Eames’s ramblings before it would be considered socially acceptable for him to excuse himself for the evening. His flight out of Sydney didn’t leave until the late morning but Arthur was positive he could find more pleasurable entertainment back in his room; or hell, _anywhere_ but crushed up against the back of the booth by Eames’s large form while listening to these stories.

 

A foot nudging his ankle caught Arthur’s attention, the Point Man looking up from his now-empty glass. He caught Dom’s purposeful gaze across the tabletop – Ariadne still wide-eyed and Eames nearly tearing up with laughter as he continued stumbling through his story – and saw the Extractor raise his glass slightly. Arthur nodded, relieved, and slid his glass across the table so that Dom could take their two empties back to the bar for refills. He subtly checked his watch again, somewhat baffled by the fact that only four minutes had passed, and waited impatiently for his second drink.

 

Luckily the story, a story Arthur had heard far too many times already – the _first_ time had already been too much – soon came to a close. Ariadne was laughing so hard she nearly choked on her drink when she tried to take a sip, and Eames’s face was plastered with a rather self-satisfying smirk as he grinning against the rim of his own glass. Finally, once both dream workers had calmed down, Eames glanced over at Arthur. “Why aren’t you laughing, darling? That story is gold.”

 

“It wasn’t funny the first time you told it to me,” Arthur informed the man, not for the first time. “And it certainly hasn’t grown funnier upon repetition.” He thought Eames might take offense but the other man just laughed again and patted him on the shoulder, hand heavy as Eames’s cheeks flushed red with alcohol.

 

Ariadne laughed at Eames’s expense and finally finished her drink, setting the glass down on the tabletop for the satisfying _thunk_. “Sometimes I can’t believe you, Eames,” she giggled as she leaned back against the booth cushions, though her eyes remained fixed on the Forger. “Will you ever settle down?”

 

“Settle down?” Eames raised an eyebrow, setting his own finished glass down. “Why the hell would I want to do something like that?”

 

Dom reappeared with new drinks for everyone, setting then down on the tabletop before slipping back into his place beside Ariadne. Eames slid Arthur’s drink across the polished wood to within the Point Man’s grasp, but didn’t appear perturbed when Arthur didn’t bother muttering a ‘thank you’. Everyone took another drink together and Arthur assumed the previous topic had been dropped, but when he set his glass back down he saw Ariadne shaking her head. “Don’t you want to have a partner you can trust and always rely on? Someone you know will be there through thick and thin?”

 

Arthur couldn’t help but snort into his glass when Ariadne gave a wistful sigh when she finished. Dom only seemed to be paying half attention but Eames appeared to be just as amused as Arthur. “This isn’t a fairytale, Ariadne,” Eames chuckled, fidgeting as though he wished to pull out a cigarette but purposefully stilling his hands with his glass; Arthur remembered Eames proclaiming he was quitting, much to Arthur’s silent relief. The smell of smoke always gave him a headache. “The closest thing I have to that is Arthur and he’d cut my balls off if I tried anything.”

 

Arthur tensed at the sound of his own name. Ariadne snorted. “No he wouldn’t.”

 

“Yes I would!” Arthur shot back immediately, horrified that Ariadne thought he wouldn’t.

 

“Yes he would,” Dom backed him up, words almost eclipsing Arthur’s own as they spoke in unison.

 

“Alright, alright!” Ariadne held her hands up as a sign of surrender, slumping back further against the booth cushions. “You win. Though I’m not sure I’d count that as winning.”

 

“It’ll only be losing if I try something,” Eames pointed out with a smirk, sending Arthur a sidelong wink playfully before downing his second drink. Arthur felt his stomach make uncomfortable little knots that were entirely inappropriate based on how little alcohol he had ingested thus far. There was just something about the way Eames had offhandedly proclaimed Arthur to be the closest thing he had ever had as a partner – many powerful words associated with that after Ariadne’s description - that had Arthur’s body thrumming with adrenaline and nerves. Or maybe that was the alcohol. Either way he decided to ignore it and push his spinning thoughts aside since the rest of the table had changed topics.

 

When he glanced up, his troubling thoughts buried, Arthur found his three teammates focused on the stage. The lights had been turned up with a few coloured lenses put over some of the spotlights, bathing the dark wooden stage in a deep red light. A few musicians set up along the edge of the stage began playing their music softly, the melody swelling and mingling amongst the comfortable silences between conversations in the lounge.

 

The rest of the lounge’s lighting dimmed a little more until Eames – blocking half of Arthur’s view of the stage – looked soft around the edges. Arthur knew this wasn’t accurate, knowing the man had muscles he could only dream of, but the half darkness made things feel more intimate, Eames more approachable. The stage lights turned brighter to catch on the dazzling red sequins of the singer’s dress as she stepped up confidently onto the stage. Her skin reminded Arthur of a rich coffee, her wavy black hair cascading over her shoulders but showing off her bare back where the fabric of the dress fell away teasingly when she spun and gripped the microphone.

 

As she stepped up to the microphone, her stance balanced and strong, her eyes swept over the darkened crowd. Arthur felt himself automatically tense when her gaze brushed over him, feeling something like a spark of electricity with the heat in her eyes. Her gaze continued on though and Arthur relaxed, at least until he noticed the singer’s eyes land on Eames beside him. The woman’s painted lips quirked up in what appeared to be recognition as one dark eye winked at the Forger, long lashes caressing her cheekbone. “Do you know--?” Arthur began curiously.

  
“Shh, darling,” Eames hushed him lightly without looking over his shoulder at Arthur, as though he were in a trance. “Enjoy the music. She has a beautiful voice.” Arthur sat back against the cushions, Eames’s comment effectively answering Arthur’s unfinished question. He felt another wave of curiosity wash over him but he saw the singer whisper something to the musicians, the music changing as she returned to her spot on stage. Arthur fell momentarily silent to listen and judge Eames’s proclamation.   




 

_He's a tramp_  
But they love him  
Breaks a new heart  
Ev'ry day  
  
_He's a tramp_  
They adore him  
And I only hope  
He'll stay that way 

_He's a tramp_  
He's a scoundrel  
He's a rounder  
He's a cad 

_He's a tramp_  
But I love him  
Yes, even I  
Have got it pretty bad 

Just as Eames had proclaimed, she had a beautiful voice. It wrapped around Arthur’s thoughts, silencing all but the lyrics in his head. Her voice was powerful but lyrical, taking control of the musicians and allowing them to trail along behind her as they followed her melody. Arthur, despite priding himself on being extremely observant, found himself startled when his dreamlike state broke just long enough for him to realize the singer had stepped off the stage and was approaching their table.

 

Her eyes were on Eames as she drew nearer, the spotlights following her to cut a path through the otherworldly darkness of the lounge. Arthur could hear a few other tables mumbling to themselves or catcalling playfully, vying for the singer’s attention, but it all fell into the background when the woman stood in front of their table. She leaned forward to brush delicate fingers across Eames’s forehead, brushing hair aside, and then pressed a flirtatious kiss to his brow. She was smiling warmly and Arthur could see that Eames was smiling too, leading her down with a bold hand until she was sitting in the booth beside him. The singer seemed entirely untroubled, leaning against him teasingly as she continued singing.

 

_You can never tell_  
When he'll show up  
He gives you  
Plenty of trouble  
I guess he's just a  
No 'count pup  
But I wish that he  
Were double 

_He's a tramp_  
He's a rover  
And there's nothing  
More to say 

_If he's a tramp_  
He's a good one  
And I wish that I  
Could travel his way 

_Wish that I could travel his way..._

_Wish that I could travel his way..._

 

As soon as the word ‘travel’ fell from those painted lips the singer began to pull herself elegantly to her feet, her dress shimmering as the spotlights caught the movement. She sent Eames one final smile, the Forger seemingly frozen in place even as he smiled in return, and then began travelling slowly back towards the stage. Her hips swayed tantalizingly as she walked, repeating the last line again and again as she neared the stage, her voice growing softer as though she was falling away into the distance even though it was her own skill as a singer causing the change.

 

Finally her voice fell away into a short-lived silence before the lounge began cheering and clapping. The singer sent one final glance back at Eames over her shoulder, one final wink, and then returned the microphone to its stand, preparing to begin a new song while remaining on stage this time. “So I guess it’s safe to say you _do_ know her,” Arthur stated calmly, ignoring the way his jaw clenched slightly as he spoke.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Arthur,” Eames chuckled as he turned back around to face the whole table rather than just the stage.

 

“Jealous of her?” Arthur scoffed. “I pity her for ending up with someone like you.”

 

“I meant jealous of me for being with her, darling,” Eames whispered, leaning a little closer until Arthur could feel the man’s warm breath ghosting over his face. Eames was smirking, no doubt amused by Arthur’s slip-up and resulting embarrassment, but the man’s eyes looked a little too serious, a little too curious.

 

Arthur leaned back in search of some distance from Eames, feeling his body tense and his cheeks begin to flush. He was aware of Dom and Ariadne’s gazes flickering from Eames to rest on Arthur, curious about his out-of-place comment. The singer had begun a new song, singing to the whole lounge now, but Arthur barely heard her voice over the sound of his own heart racing in his ears. “I’m not jealous of either of you,” he insisted strongly, swallowing the rest of his drink hurriedly to keep himself from fidgeting.

 

“Well you should be jealous,” Eames finally sat straight again, giving Arthur some personal space. “The sex was amazing on both ends.” Eames sent Arthur a wink and Arthur looked away quickly.

 

“We don’t need to know that, Eames,” Dom drawled in aggravation, no doubt desperate to stop that particular conversation topic in its tracks without more alcohol to drown it out.

 

“I felt Arthur needed to know,” Eames shrugged playfully. “And...” the Forger’s suddenly sultry voice trailed off as he slid across the booth cushions, pressing his side tightly against Arthur’s own until their heat was mingling. “If you want further instruction I’d be happy to demonstrate--”

 

“Getaway from me,” Arthur grumbled as he forcefully shoved Eames back towards the edge of the booth, wishing he had been at the right angle to punch the other man in the face. Arthur didn’t like the way his heart was racing, or the way his cheeks were still flushed despite the small amount of alcohol, but he wasn’t planning on acknowledging these small oddities anytime soon.

 

“Don’t worry, Eames,” Ariadne chirped, sounding as though her alcohol might have hit her a little harder than her teammates. “He’s just shy. Don’t give up!” she finished in a stage whisper before breaking down into giggles.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Eames laughed lightly, rubbing his wrist absentmindedly where it had struck the edge of the table when Arthur shoved him away. Arthur refused to let himself feel bad for that and turned his gaze to Dom in search of some backup.

 

Dom, with no more alcohol in front of him to help ease the absurdity that was this current conversation, shook his head and stood up from the booth. Even though Arthur wanted another drink to help turn this uncomfortably embarrassing evening into an easily-forgotten blur, he followed the Extractor’s lead, shoving Eames out of his way to exit the booth. Ariadne had had plenty of alcohol for one night and she wouldn’t thank them on their flight the next morning if they allowed her to have any more.

 

Dom relinquished his left shoulder to Ariadne as she leaned against him, gripping his arm tightly for balance as they headed out of the bar lounge. Arthur detoured to pay the tab and was surprised to find Eames leaning against their abandoned booth, waiting for him. The two dream workers walked out of the lounge in silence, Arthur hating himself for noticing that Eames didn’t send a backward glance to the singer still commanding the stage. There was still a swarm of questions buzzing around Arthur’s mind but Eames didn’t speak and Arthur didn’t trust his own mouth after his previous slip-up, so they walked to the hotel in silence.

 

They entered the lobby in time to see one of the elevators close with Ariadne leaning against the elevator wall, giggling hysterically, and Dom staring at the ceiling looking like he might be praying – though for what, Arthur couldn’t guess. Arthur was too tired to rush across the lobby to join them as the elevator doors slid closed so he and Eames stepped into the other elevator side by side, Eames pressing the _8_ and Arthur the _11_. It wasn’t as uncomfortable in the elevator as Arthur thought it should be, just the two of them with the evening’s conversations floating heavy between them, but he still watched the numbers slide by anxiously.

 

When the door opened on floor eight, Eames didn’t move. Arthur sent him a sidelong glance, feeling his stomach begin making uncomfortable knots again. Eames looked over at him and then offered up a surprisingly shy smile. “Guess this is me...” he muttered quietly. Eames took two unwilling steps towards the hallway and then paused, straddling the line that kept the doors from closing. “You know...” Eames began again, looking at the wall by Arthur’s shoulder, almost looking _past_ Arthur into some distant thought or memory in Eames’s mind Arthur couldn’t see. “You really are the closest thing I have.”

 

“The closest thing...?” Arthur echoed, feeling as though he had been left behind in the conversation.

 

“To a partner,” Eames clarified, blue eyes flickering over to hold Arthur’s gaze.

 

Arthur could see that Eames’s cheeks were flushed, but he couldn’t help but think it wasn’t because of the alcohol. Similarly, Arthur didn’t think it would be right of him to entirely blame his warm body and skipping heart on the alcohol. “Eames...” he started and then trailed off, really not knowing what to say. When he thought about it – really forced himself to consider it without worrying about appearances and expectations and logic – Eames was the closest thing to a partner Arthur had as well. On a job, despite their bickering, Arthur knew he could always rely on Eames to do what was necessary to get the job done and keep the team safe. He knew he could trust Eames at his back. He knew he could call Eames if he ever needed help – if Arthur’s pride would ever allow it, of course.

 

Lost in thought, Arthur only realized Eames had moved when the man’s body was sudden pressing close to Arthur, pinning him to the elevator wall. Arthur’s body tensed in surprise but melted almost immediately as Eames’s warm body moulded to Arthur’s own. Their lips met hesitantly, neither of them new to this but both of them unsure, tentative, scared. Arthur watched as Eames’s eyes slid closed, the man sighing softly into Arthur’s mouth as he pressed a little closer, and Arthur shyly allowed his own eyes to slip closed. He relished in the feel of Eames’s lips pressing and moving against his own, raising his hands to rest on Eames’s shoulders to hold him a little closer.

 

It was the sound of the elevator pinging that caused them to separate. Arthur glanced up to see the number _11_ lit up for his floor, realizing the doors must have closed when Eames stepped back into the elevator. He looked back at Eames and felt his breath catch when he saw the other man watching him softly. They were still holding one another close so Arthur forced himself to take a few steps away, mirroring Eames’s previous stance as he kept the door from closing on them again. Arthur had no idea what would happen if the elevator closed again, enveloping them in a tiny world Arthur had never anticipated.

 

“Arthur...” Eames whispered, taking a step closer.

 

Arthur shook his head and took a step back out into the hallway. He remembered the singer’s lyrics. He remembered the stories. He remembered Eames’s behaviour over the last few years he had known the dream worker. “I won’t let you break my heart, Eames.”

 

“I would never--” Eames cut himself off when Arthur sent him a disbelieving look. Arthur was fearful of allowing himself to listen to Eames’s words, to believe in the man and fall into the same trap as so many others. “Darling,” Eames tried again, the pet name causing Arthur to involuntarily shiver. “I think a part of me has always been looking for the right person to change for. I... Well, I think that person might be you.”

 

Arthur took a deep breath, wavering on the balls of his feet as he leaned towards and then away from the elevator. “You don’t know that,” he hedged, taking half a step closer so that his foot was keeping the elevator and its cargo – its tempting promises – from slipping away.

 

“I know that I want it to you be you, love,” Eames admitted quietly.

 

Arthur closed his eyes and tried to think, which was difficult with the way his thoughts were swirling around like a hurricane. He tried to think logically, grasping frantically at the fraying ends of a thread. He should turn and escape to his room where it was safe. He should never cross this boundary in their relationship as solid and tangible as the brass line in the floor cutting off the elevator from the hallway. But he could barely hear these thoughts, these warnings, these fears. His heart was beating quickly, drowning out his logic, and his body felt as though it had been electrically charged, drawing Arthur towards his teammate.

 

Eames gave him a small, fearful smile, looking more vulnerable than Arthur had ever seen him before, and Arthur felt invisible chains crack and fall from his form. He stepped forward with sudden momentum and crashed into Eames, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck to hold him close as their lips locked together again. He felt Eames’s hands come to rest on his hips, making the blow less painful for Arthur as they stumbled back against the elevator wall. Arthur kept pressing closer, their bodies fitting together as their lips began to dance. And as he felt Eames smile warmly into their kiss, Arthur felt his own lips quirk up in return.

 

Maybe he would regret this. Maybe he wouldn’t. All Arthur knew was that he wanted to try.

**Author's Note:**

> **You can check out[here](http://onewhositswiththeturtles.tumblr.com/) to follow my Tumblr for info about me and story updates.**


End file.
